Not Again
by Fangirl9001
Summary: Oneshot. Crackfic with a tiny, tiny, TINY hint of seriousness. What happens when Judge Turpin's in Paris to mess with Judge Frollo? It's...not pretty.


A/N: Yep. I wrote this mostly to amuse myself and because the internet needed more old men hissing at each other like angry schoolgirls. BUUT I did kind of get the idea/inspiration from a neat piece of fanart I found on deviantART, which I will link once I ask the artist if I can or not. xP

Now without further ado, le fic!

Claude did not immediately recognize the severe face and bizarre clothing of the gray-haired man he'd caught admiring his hat. When this man approached him on the street during a bright and busy summer morning in Paris and began speaking, his face fell; he could indeed recognize that lunatic Turpin's voice anywhere.

"Claude? Is that you? My God, man, haven't seen you in _years_. Trying to escape me, eh?" Turpin cried. He gave a nasty smile and Frollo very reluctantly shook his hand.

"Naturally. That's why I left London," he replied, not entirely joking. He knew, everyone back home knew that John Turpin was a corrupt lecher who wasn't afraid to horribly abuse his power. Indeed, he was one of the few people that Claude had always secretly but genuinely feared. He did not see the irony in this.

"Of course," Turpin continued. "I'm here to escape the Beadle for a while myself. How has Paris been treating you?"

"Well enough." Claude's beady eyes searched wildly for a means of escape.

"It's just _beautiful_," Turpin prattled on. "It's far better than that _hole _of a city I've got. You're lucky to be out of there."

"Because Paris hasn't got any problems. At all."

"Precisely! You know, I'd stay here myself were it not for a few _irresistible_ forces driving me back home." Turpin had already fallen into step with Claude, who quickened his pace.

Frollo realized with a sickening jolt what he was talking about. "Not her again! John! You _know_ how I felt about that Lucy woman," he said irritably. "She's _married,_ you can't just-"

"Actually," Turpin's voice cut in. "I'm finished with her. Her husband's rotting in Australia or wherever the hell I sent him, and, _regrettably, _I was saddled with their daughter after Lucy was carted off to Bedlam." Turpin spoke with the casual irritation of a man commenting on bad weather. Frollo stopped dead in his tracks, able to only stare, horrified.

"What? Are you bloody _insane_?" He cried before lowering his voice to a vicious whisper. "Tell me you didn't."

He grew more alarmed at Turpin's nonchalant reply.

"She didn't struggle. She must have wanted me," he muttered, almost to himself. "Though, come to think of it, that really _was_ an oddly timed suicide attempt afterward..."

"...You..." Frollo's shock became seething outrage very quickly. "WHY? _HOW? _You really are insane, aren't you? No—no, shut up," He snapped when Turpin opened his mouth to speak. "You make me _sick. _ No restraint, no thought towards the lives you've just _completely_ destroyed out of lust for a woman who was taken in the first place-"

"And how about the lives _you_ destroyed for absolutely _no_ reason?" Turpin, paradoxically, shouted while remaining perfectly calm to interrupt. A rather confused Frollo opened his mouth to speak but he went on. "The gypsies, imbecile, the ones you love burning alive, the ones that scatter whenever you're around. Remember them? If I'm not mistaken, that deformed boy that you raised came into your care when you killed his mother, a gypsy running from you."

"Don't compare us. Don't you dare. _I'm_ trying to get rid of those heathens. You're trying to drive London into corruption. I'm attempting something noble. You? You disgust me." Frollo glared and turned to leave, but Turpin once again made him stop in his tracks.

"Fine. But one last thing, Claude, tell me about Esmeralda."

One word alone ran through Frollo's mind: _Damn._

He turned very slowly. Turpin sensed that he'd hit a raw nerve, continuing with an arrogant sneer. "I'm not stupid. You, me, half the city…we all know what's on your mind. Hasn't she taken sanctuary at Notre Dame?"

"…Unfortunately."

Turpin raised his eyebrows and gave a small smile. "Claude, she's practically _waiting_ for you. Do you mean to say that you haven't laid a finger on her?"

"No, I haven't. I'm not _sick_ like you are." This time Frollo actually did turn and begin walking off, only to be stopped one more freaking time.

"You want her desperately," Turpin said with utter certainty.

"I want her hanged," he replied with somewhat less certainty.

Turpin went on as if he hadn't heard that last remark. "What I find so strange is that you're somehow holding the entire city in the very palm of your hand…and you haven't taken advantage of that. Why? What could she possibly do to stop you?"

Frollo stopped with an exasperated cry. "What part of 'I want her dead' do you not comprehend? I'm not letting her tempt me like she's tempting you, right now. I'm just out to send her back to hell."

Turpin buried his face in one palm. "Again with all your hellfire gloom-and-doom? I remember a very different Frollo, you know. Thirty years ago you'd have jumped at a chance like this, and now…? You're no fun."

"I don't want to know your sick definition of fun."

Turpin chuckled. "If you must kill her, you should at least enjoy her before you do."

Somehow, they'd begun walking again, and now they both found themselves at Notre Dame herself. The cathedral now stood before them, hundreds of feet high, its shadow shading both judges from the hot sun. The distant, beautiful chime of the bells was audible over the many voices and sounds of the city. Both men looked up, always awed by its beauty. One of them, however, was struck with an idea.

"Claude, if you won't..." he said to himself. He turned to Frollo. "I take it she hasn't left since you trapped her here...?"

"No—But…wait! Where are you going?" Claude shrieked. Turpin had already started to make his way up the stone steps to the doors of Notre Dame. He ran to seize his collar and pull him away. "You can't. It's as simple as that. The archdeacon is inside, and Quasimodo loves the girl. He'd end you. I wouldn't even try it." Frollo looked quite smug but his smile was returned by Turpin in the form of a wicked grin.

"I see…Well. It's a very big cathedral. I mean, there must be plenty of chambers around, or closets, maybe someplace on the floor..."

"You...what? I'm not going to let you do this!" he nearly flew up the steps after Turpin, roughly shoving aside one of his own guards as he went. Both judges rushed inside just in time to hear the faint sounds of a sweet, mournful tune echoing from every wall in the grand cathedral; they found its source almost instantly.

"Is that her?" Whispered Turpin. They both saw a lone gypsy girl beneath a huge rose window sink to her knees. A small goat crawled to her and she held it close; they were both bathed in sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows. She seemed to glow, a picture of radiant perfection. Both judges watched her from behind a thick marble pillar. Frollo glared at her, yet as she stood he quickly shut his eyes and sighed.

"I knew it," Turpin muttered, recognizing the very same look he'd given Lucy years ago.

"Shut up," Frollo snapped.

Turpin shrugged and turned his eyes back to Esmeralda with a look of blatant, firey excitement.

"She's stunning, Claude. You have excellent taste," Turpin mumbled as he stepped toward the gypsy. "But you've just missed your chance." He instantly turned and began walking briskly toward her. Frollo stood frozen behind the pillar, watching as Turpin very casually walked up behind Esmeralda and seized both her arms. She jumped, startled, before crying out in frustration and trying to wriggle away.

"You? Again? I swear to God, Frollo, try anything and I'll slice off your-wait a minute..." When she couldn't wrench herself from Turpin's considerably stronger grip, she thrashed harder and turned to try and get a look at this stranger's face. "Who the hell are you?"

"Does it really matter?" he turned her around to face him; her defiant glare turned into a very puzzled look.

"It helps. What are you, one of his minions? A brother? Clone?" When he didn't respond or let her go, she glared at him and gave a sharp whistle. They gypsy's pet goat, Djali, ran over, its hooves pounding upon the stone floor. Esmeralda nodded to Turpin, and the beast charged, aiming remarkably sharp horns directly at the strange judge's legs. Turpin, however, had heard her. He stepped aside and aimed a kick at the poor creature, sending it skittering across the floor until with a pained cry it ran off.

"A goat? Really?" The judge shrugged off the minor annoyance and turned back to her.

"Get off me. I don't know _who_ you are, but you're _dead_—LET ME GO!" she snapped. Turpin began to back her into the stone wall, behind a row of pillars. The cathedral was near deserted, but he clamped his arms around her waist and pressed his lips against hers to keep her quiet, acting worryingly casual, as though this was something he did every day. Esmeralda fought savagely, thrashing and tugging, yet he managed to hold her down.

"Keep still, gypsy, you'll only hurt yourself," he muttered, reaching for her blue-green corset. After fumbling for a moment he simply grabbed it and tore it away. This woman was no Lucy, quite the opposite; where that blonde waif had cried and attempted to hide her shame, this caramel-colored beauty still fought, nearly-topless and still livid with him. Turpin only hesitated at that very moment, once he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He quickly turned around and was immediately met with a punch to the face.

Turpin, staggered back with a cry of surprise, hand immediately clutching his nose. Frollo stood completely still, staring daggers at him and shaking his hand a bit, as though he'd just touched something filthy. Esmeralda let out a sigh of relief, leaning heavily on the wall and trying to keep from shaking.

"Thanks," she sniffed, looking up. "You-wait, _you_ saved me? You…_saved_ me." Whatever tears had threatened were immediately stopped when a look of complete confusion spread across Esmeralda's fine features.

"Yes. Me. Are you alright?" he asked, looking down and straightening his rings.

"Who are you and what did you do with Frollo?" she replied. "Not that I mind, I mean-LOOK OUT!"

Claude failed to move in time and was struck in the head by a long candleholder wielded, of course, by Turpin. His hat was knocked clean off, sailing across the floor; he swayed for a moment, as though he would fall, but he quickly whirled around to wrap his hands around Turpin's neck.

"I _warned _you, John," he growled.

"Did you?" Turpin choked in reply. "Because-" he kicked at Frollo and slipped from his grasp. "You made it clear that-"

"I made it _clear_ that you weren't touching her."

"I'd like to see you try and stop me, Claude."

With a sudden roar, Frollo lunged, tackling Turpin to the ground. They punched, kicked, and clawed, screeching, hair-pulling, making attempts to dash each other's brains out against the shimmering columns of Notre Dame. Every dull _thunk_ of a fist or candlestick meeting its mark, every snarl and every insult was echoing through the entire cathedral.

"YOU MISSED YOUR CHANCE!" Turpin said as he spit out what looked alarmingly like a tooth.

"I-SAW-HER-FIRST!" Each word was punctuated by a swing of the candle holder.

"Idiot!"

"Pervert!"

"Twat!"

"Guys. Guys! GUYS! Hey!" Esmeralda, who had been quietly watching, suddenly shouted. "Just stop! I don't want _either_ of you. Quit fighting over something you're not getting anyway."

Both men, hands tearing at each other's collars, turned their heads to face her, and replied in unison. "Shut up!"

Esmeralda pouted, glared, and turned to leave. However, after an hour or so, she could not resist returning to see what she imagined to be the fight's conclusion. Two aging judges could only go on punching each other for so long, she reasoned to herself. One of them had to drop eventually—or, if she were lucky, they'd somehow simultaneously terminated each other.

Oddly enough, she came to find none other than her precious pet, Djali, sitting on the floor looking quite triumphant. As if answering her prayers, both judges were nearby lying on the floor and looking quite unconscious. Esmeralda quickly knelt on the floor and hugged the goat with a jubilant laugh.

"Good girl. _Very _good girl, Djali," she cooed. After giving the goat a well-deserved rubdown and scratch behind the ears, she turned to it with a rather serious expression. "You know what to do now, right?" The goat seemingly bleated in response. "Okay, go." She nodded, and Djali quickly scampered away. Moments later the little goat returned with a quill pen and ink bottle held carefully in its teeth.

"Perfect." Esmeralda wasted no time. The gypsy sat delicately between the two judges and carefully arranged her skirts. She quickly opened the ink bottle, dipped the quill, and set to work doodling upon the faces of both men. When she had finished both Turpin's and Frollo's facades were thoroughly covered in crude anatomical diagrams, French swear words, and blatant falsehoods regarding their sexual preferences. Once the ink ran out, the gypsy stood with a snicker and turned to leave. Her goat followed.

"Oh, hold on, I almost forgot!" she cried, rushing back to the passed-out pair. The gypsy's emerald-green eyes scanned the floor, and she ambled around the still-empty cathedral as though looking for something. After a few minutes, her face brightened side for a moment. She bent and reached for Judge Claude Frollo's triangular hat, dusted it off, and put it on.

"Alright. That's everything. Let's go." The gypsy skipped up to the towers of Notre Dame, with Djali trotting along behind her.


End file.
